CHRISTMAS 1994

         My friend Art Gobets and I laugh when we define an old person as someone who will stoop to pick up a stray penny on the sidewalk.

         PBS has been running programs on The Great Depression. What has not been pointed out is that the plight of the unemployed and the underemployed varied though the year; the best portion of the year being summer when the fruit and vegebatles were ripe and the hens were laying as opposed to February when winter's desolation took its toll. This was true for the farm families who had little money but at least had food, the city dwellers for whom the food dropped to its lowest prices, to the families whose income was tied to the building trades; for these the jobs died at the first frost of the fall season. Can you stand a few more of my childhood stories?

         Most people today think that the Great depression struck massively in 1929. In reality it started in 1929 and then became worse in subsequent years, the economy worsening until perhaps 1935 when Roosevelt's New Deal programs began to take effect. In 1932 I was in second gade; a natural topic for the teacher was thrift (Ben Franklin was our hero). She convinced us that our future well-being was tied to thrift. To this end she had each of us forgo candy, gum, and small toys and instead save any money that would otherwise be spent on these childhood essentials and bring it to school every Monday. She helped each of us open a savings account at the bank a block from the school. After collecting our pennies (occasionally there was a nickel or a dime in the collection) and noting the amounts on a sheet of paper, she would put the coins in a cloth sack, transfer our savings books from her desk to her purse, and march us to the bank for the DEPOSIT. I recall the bank manager, a rotund man with a big smile and a red face, ceremoniously enter the amounts in our books and then proceed to the vault into which he would place the coins and finally close the valut door with a loud KLUNK. Now, at age 7 this had great impact on me. A penny had real buying power then. With a penny you could shop at the grocery store across from the bank. Near the door was a large display case, perhaps 6 feet long. This was filled with a huge assortment of gum, candies, and toys, each priced at one or two for a penny. The proprietor would patiently pace me behind the case, I holding my penny between my index finger and my thumb, as I moved slowly back and forth in front of the case, trying to decide between bubble gum (two giant pieces for a penny), a tin whistle, a car, or some variety of candy. My self enforced deprivation lasted for about 3 months, at which time a demoralized teacher announced that the bank had closed its doors. I remember asking her repeatedly, "where is my 38 cents?" She didn't know. My parents didn't know. Right at the Christmas season too! I resolved that bankers who closed their banks ought to be put in jail for 75 years. I decided that I would never trust a banker again (a position that I had to finally break many years later).

         That year there was plenty of snow and cold weather for the Christmas season. The town fire department had flooded a large, low region in back of the stores and there was along, low hill adjoining the frozen pond. Dad used one of his 10-foot scaffold planks to build a bobsled. The front portion could in theory be steered by pivoting it with one's feet, but the runners were of wood and so were ineffective. With the help of some of the older neighborhood boys we pulled the bobsled to the town pond. With 8 or so people on board, the ride down the hill to the pond was thrilling; I remember the skaters scattering when we roared towards them, the steering being completely ineffective. To drag the heavy sled back up the slippery hill soon diminished the impact of its thrilling ride and after a few times, I had no more eager pullers. Dad had no source of metal runners; he tried nailing tin can material to the wood runners, but this was of no help.

         For the adults it was only natural that the holiday season would be occupied with thoughts on how to make some money. With the exception of our rich relatives, the Carrolls (Uncle Ed was the manager of the shoe department of the elite Chicago department store, Marshall Fields, and he reputedly made $50 a week, more than dad or any of the other relatives made in a month), much of the adult talk centered on various schemes for increasing income if not getting rich. Uncle Ed Wallace had heard the old phony story about the man who invented a carburetor that allowed a car to get 250 miles on a gallon of gasoline and that Standard Oil had bought his invention and sworn him to secrecy for one million dollars, so at one time I remember seeing my uncle drilling holes to admit air to various parts of his Hudson's engine; dad said that he was hoping to discover the secret. Dad introduced me to the idea of a perpetual motion machine, but ne hever got around to doing any experiments on his ideas (they weren't original). Uncle Ross Taylor had the idea for a coin operated hot coffee dispenser long before they appeared, but he lacked capital to try his idea. Uncle Charlie was the only relative who should have become wealthy. He invented and patented the idea for the paper toilet seat protector, but he lacked money to fight the oil and paper companies that quickly infringed on his patent. Uncle Vladimir (now there was a man with unbreakable determination!) struggled through the depresion and into the post war period (his Jedlicka Awning Company was never a resounding success); in the mid-fifties, when he was in his eighties and had outlived 5 wives, he was still trying to find his pot of gold. At the last clan gathering, cousin Roy Steffensen decribed how Uncle Vladimir had visited him then had asked him to drive him around to the top offices of the oil companies in Los Angeles where he insisted on talking to the preseident of each company about a scheme he had for a novel type of filling station with a canvas top.

         The unbreakable determination also existed on the other side of the family tree. In one of the worst years, Uncle Jim Pesek was between jobs and Aunt Madelline frantically searched the Chicago classified for a job, any job. One of the large radio manufacturers, Steward Warner, had an add for EXPERIENCED WIRING SOLDERERS. Aunt Madelline had no idea what this job entailed, but she was determined to have a go at it. She appeared along with an army of other women at the employment office. The supervisor announced that those who were skilled at soldering wires were to go to the right side of the room. Aunt Madelline was no dummy, she moved to the right, along with about 30 others. Dismissing the rest, the supervisor next announced that those who had at least 3 years experience at soldering components on electronic chassis should move to the left of the room. Now there were only 4, including Aunt Madelline. The supervisor looked at each for a moment and, pointing to Aunt Madelline, said, "follow me." She took Aunt Madelline to the assembly line and said, "you stand here, and on each chassis you solder a wire from pin 2 of this socket to the far end of this terminal -- got it?" Aunt Madeline nodded confidently, although to her the chassis looked like a rat's nest. Watching the woman next to her, she pickedu p a wire and the soldering iron to make a stab at it. At this moment the supervisor was called away, and the chassis' began to pile up at Aunt Madelline's station. Biting her lip, she picked up a chassis and soldered a wire from somewhere here to somewhere there. After a few of these, she became confident about her work and soon had eliminated the backlog. The supervisor came back, saw that Aunt Madelline apparently had everything under control, and went elsewhere. After about an hour, the first chasis that Aunt Madelline had worked on was installed in its cabinet and was plugged in to verify that it was working. Smoke poured from it. It was put aside, and when the next one didn't work, it was also put aside. But as more defective cassis' appeared, the assembly line was shut down while technicians frantically tried to determine who or what was responsible for the failures. The problem was there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the failures because each was different. Meanwhile, Aunt Madelline was happily chatting with her neighbors, oblivious to the shouting going on a the end of the assembly line (by this time the management was out in force to see what was holding up production). Finally an unusually perceptive technician said, "wait a minute -- what changed on the assembly lin about an hour ago?" Within a minute, Aunt Madelline was surrounded by a group of technicians and supervisors. Asked to demonstrate her job, she said, "I solder a wire from about here to somewhere over there, somewhere the wire will conveniently stretch to." She was promptly fired, and when she asked for her hour's pay, she was told, "lady, if you worked for us for 6 months and never made another mistake, your pay wouldn't cover how much you have cost us!"

         It was about at this time that a new paint store decided to open in our town (what courage!) They offered a job for a few school kids. It consisted of attaching flyers to the front door knob with a rubber band, the pay being 2 cents for every 5 flyers. I emember working about 2 hours after school, scurrying from house to house in my neighborhood to do 40 flyers for 16 cents. After my second day at this, I compared notes with the older boys who, it appeared, were making much more money for the same period of labor. They were surprised that I was making so little money, so they allowed me to watch their technique, which consisted of dumping the bulk of the flyers down the sewer with only a few in each batch being delivered according to the paint store owner's instructions. I discussed this with dad, thus ending my career in the delivery business -- as this story ends this year's Christmas recollections.

Jim (aka "Fat")